The state of the world and its direct proportion to my motivation level.

It’s no secret I have not been as active on this blog in the past year. Part of it is residual frustrated nonsense with Amazon (less than a month until my books are free from jail!), part of it is I’m pretty busy writing about food, and still more of my time is spent editing a final draft and first draft of the YA series I’ve been working on (the steampunk/gaslamp Queen of England trilogy). I also try and volunteer once a week.

And yet…

I’ve been struggling with the ‘why’ of my writing.

As in, what’s the point of publishing in today’s world? There are so, so, so many things I would rather people spent their money on than one of my silly little novels (and no, I don’t really feel like offering them for free just yet). While I know reading is a wonderful form of escapism, do we really have time to spare in Trump’s America? With the free time I have, I feel guilty not doing more, committing more time, energy and money towards protecting things, people and ideals I think are important.

While I worry over adjectives and adverbs, plot lines that make no sense, undeveloped characters, editing photos, number of Instagram followers, and how many ways one can describe steak, there are people with real concerns. People whose lives are on the brink of being changed forever (and not for the better). Women who could have basic rights taken away over their own bodies. Loving couples whose marriages might not be recognized, or changed in some form. An environment that needs saving. A wall no one asked for. A healthcare system canceled with no replacement. Refugees who need an open border. IT’S ONLY BEEN THE FIRST WEEK.

And so I keep asking myself, ‘why bother?’ At the rate things are going, by the time I do finally publish, I’m not sure if reading is going to be an approved past time.

I’m part of a few author’s groups and don’t see other people struggling with this problem (or maybe they are just doing a better job hiding it than I am). There are groups who prance along merrily as if the world isn’t falling apart. Maybe I’m jealous, maybe I want to be in that world. Maybe I just don’t see the point of how cool my book cover is right now.

In the meantime, to the question, ‘when are you going to publish?’ The answer is honestly, ‘I don’t know.’ There’s a book ready, but I’m not ready to support it in the way it deserves. Ask me again in a month.